Never Enough
by radioactive.zen
Summary: AU Harry Potter has to choose between two addictions: Draco Malfoy or heroin. HD SLASH Nonmagic.
1. Pleased To Meet You

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the name of the alcoholic beverage, any Harry Potter themes, characters, or anything else Harry Potter related.

WARNING: This is rated PG-13 for drug use and possible language (later, probably)

The pairing is Harry/Draco, slash, male/male. So if you don't like slash, click the back button.

ALSO! This story is set in the Muggle world, where the main characters (Harry, Draco) do NOT have magical powers, and will not have them throughout the story. I think I made my point.

**Never Enough**

_Chapter One: Pleased To Meet You_

The chill of the harsh winter wind had slammed against a poor young fellow exiting his vehicle. Not needing to shut his car door, for the wind had already done so, he cautiously made his way to his destination.

He hadn't visited to this place in a while; he had been busy dealing with a death in his family. But what suffered more than he himself was his writing. The man had not been inspired for weeks, if not months. He had no publicist to nag him, nor was he married. He was a lonely man, with a lonely soul, and absolutely nothing to write.

_Poetry should be the simplest yet most powerful thing anyone can author_, he thought on this subject for days, _but why can I not compose__ a single verse?_ Hours upon hours would pass—his long fingers running through his stringy, blond hair in frustration—yet his pen wouldn't allow even the smallest scribble on paper.

"If I were poor, I would be a better poet," he would complain to his large, empty flat paid for by his father. After pathetically whining like this, his demeanor would become bitter and ill, and his thoughts would be clogged with grief once more.

One day, feeling no purpose in anything anymore, he decided that enough was enough. So, on this icy night, he would put the past behind him and start anew from his gloomy coma, beginning with getting flat out pissed.

The door chime to the Rustman's Pub sounded as the oak door slowly opened. The tall male figure crossed the threshold and closed the door quickly, realizing he was letting the London winter snow invade the small, candle lit pub and allowing the drunks to involuntarily catch a glimpse of the moon brightly gleaming on the heavy white flecks. He peered around, looking at a few old lethargic faces, some sleeping in battered wooden chairs. The newcomer sat down at the bar, a few seats away from a frighteningly cheerful-looking chap.

The scruffy publican rubbed at a used glass with a dishtowel, then set it in front of the poet. "What'll it be, mate?"

"Erm, Wychwood Black." he answered.

"Wychwood, eh? I haven't 'eard anyone order tha' in months!" loudly exclaimed the cheery fellow, slurring his words.

"Right," the poet said, trying not to get friendly with the drunk.

"Oh, sorry. I suppose I should put my manners to use. My name's Harry. I meant ta say tha' I haven't heard that drink ordered in a long time." Harry explained himself in a garbled voice.

"Here's your Wychwood, sir." the publican interrupted.

Harry cleared his throat, and scooted over two stools that were between them and situated himself next to the writer. He just smiled and stared at his fellow drinker as the poet took a sip of his beer. Turning to notice Harry was beaming at him like he'd won the 'Idiot-Of-The-Year' award, Draco asked, "What can I do for you?

"Why is it, mystery man, that you drink such a rare drink? And it may just be me, but I recall manners involving the exchanging of names. Yours is...?"

"Malfoy, Draco Malfoy. I'm twenty-two years old and I drink this beer because my father does. Or did. He died a few months past. Anything else for you, Harry?" Draco muttered staccato-like, annoyed.

Obviously, Harry didn't notice the anger riddled in Draco's voice. He was still grinning. "I just need to know your credit card numbers and how many cats you have."

The poet turned his head, agitated, wondering if Harry was being serious. But seeing as Harry was stifling a laugh, the blond understood that as sarcasm. Catching the first glimpse of whom he was talking to, Draco silently analyzed Harry. _Wow, he's unusually sweaty_, he thought._ And awfully pale, too._ He studied him from head to toe, noticing even the slightest movements that Harry made._ Odd, he scratches his arm like there are a hundred mosquito bites there._

Draco decided that if he scrutinized Harry anymore, the blond would become the next Sherlock Holmes. Draco was brought back from his reverie as Harry finally burst, giggling as though someone was tickling him. Then, something happened to Draco that hadn't in what seemed like an eternity: a smile grew upon his melancholic face.

"What are you thinking about?" Harry questioned, straightening his glasses over his green eyes, and noting Draco's sudden grin.

"What? Oh, nothing," Draco replied. He went to take another swig of his drink, but his bottle was empty. He looked around the pub and it was empty, except for the publican, who was stacking the chairs on the tables. "I guess we should leave," Draco supposed, pointing at the empty pub. Draco reached into his pocket and pulled £1.75, setting it on the bar.

"Oh, right. Well, it was nice to meet you, Mr. Draco Malfoy." Harry said, staggering to get up from his slumped position. He looked as if he needed a days worth of sleep.

"And you," Draco said, almost ashamed to be giddy, but not knowing exactly what caused it. "By the way, do you happen to have a last name, Harry?"

"Why, yes. It's Potter." Harry said.

As Draco grabbed his coat and was walking out the door, he said, "Good evening, Mr. Potter." And with that, he walked out into the chilly night, his behavior completely changed from when he first entered.

A few minutes after Draco had left, Harry stepped out the door since he collapsed onto the floor. He woke up, being shaken by the frantic bartender. "Oi, Harry! Are you alright? Should I call an ambulance?"

Harry shook his head, the blurry outline of the bartender becoming clearer. "It's all right, Jack. Just one of my dizzy spells." he said.

Harry got up, reassuring Jack that he was really alright, and half ran out into the cold, forgetting his jacket. He hastily turned onto an alley way and retched into the mush. His glasses slipped off because of his profuse sweating. After wiping his chapped lips across his sleeve, he reached for his glasses sitting in the dirty snow. The brick wall supported him as he stood up, and he walked home, shaking.

* * *

When Draco had left Rustman's Pub, he hurriedly paced to his car. He was bewildered—yet somewhat satisfied—at the thought that a random drunk could inspire him, or at least help him get back his patented smirk. But this Harry Potter seemed like an intriguing mystery, although something in the back of Draco's mind had irked him.

He'd almost forgotten which way he lived—so frazzled by his thoughts—but managed to navigate his way home. Once he opened the lock to his two-level flat, he ran up the stairs to his study, where he found his computer sitting. First, he scratched down a few seemingly poetic lines he thought of on his way home on a spare notepad.

Content with his words, he attempted to alleviate his curiosity. Draco opened his internet browser and then maneuvered his long fingers over the keyboard as he typed these symptoms: sweating, scratching, and drowsiness. The first two symptoms explained that Harry could have eczema, and the drowsiness could have been explained by the intense alcohol consumption. Draco scrolled down for more options, and one diagnosis immediately caught his eye. Heroin. _No, it couldn't possibly be it. Don't those people see pink elephants or something?_, Draco thought. He clicked on the link and it described every symptom that Harry seemed to have had, except for the pink elephants. _It can't be drugs. It's the eczema and alcohol, it has to be._


	2. Emerald Enigmas

**Never Enough  
**  
_Chapter Two: Emerald Enigmas_

Toss, turn.

Draco had never had trouble sleeping before; absolutely _nothing_ could keep him from getting rest. Even with all the other dates—men_or_ women—he'd bring home with him that weren't entirely terrific, he wouldn't waste a minute's time wondering when the agony was going to end while he could spend it sleeping.

But Harry was different. Draco, even though knowing Harry for only a few hours, felt more comfortable with him than his old friends, as if he'd known Harry since forever. But Harry rarely spoke of himself, causing Draco to spend all night pondering about _who_ Harry really was.

He didn't know how he was attracted to Harry. Whether it was the possibility of him being a druggie that made Harry seem dangerous and intriguing, or it been that Harry was incredibly handsome, or maybe plainly the fact that Draco was no longer alone, Draco was content with his situation.

One thought that burned in his mind, however, was Harry and drugs. Harry acted odd that night, so there was a chance that Draco's suspicion could be true. He didn't understand why it mattered so much. Sure, drug use is a factor that Draco was to some extent aware of, but that didn't really make him change his mind. He himself occasionally did ecstasy at rave parties he attended—_used_ to attend, that is.

He could be his rude self and ask Harry "Are you on drugs, or is it the eczema making you so itchy?", but he didn't want to offend his potential date. But this person, Harry, he couldn't decipher the mystery that lay beneath his skin. Especially his eyes, small emeralds hidden behind circular spectacles; Draco couldn't get them out of his mind.

* * *

As for Harry, he had a great night's sleep, apart from the occasional feelings of sickness. He had placed a red mop bucket beside his bed lest his stomach turn against him. The next morning, Harry felt required to wake early, so he took a quick shower. He dressed in faded denims and a black sweatshirt. He assumed that he would run to the store to get groceries, because his pantry was almost bare. After the shopping, he would be back in time to do...absolutely nothing. He was on holiday at his job as a book sales clerk and had all the time in the world, at least for four more days. Nearing noon, Harry decided he would go to the Rustman's Pub, like every other day, but hoping to find something additional in the gloomy setting.

* * *

Draco didn't plan on having a "real" job. Thanks to being his father's only son, he inherited the extravagant empire his father had built, so he could roam free to do whatever the bloody hell he wanted. Mr. Lucius Malfoy owned a top-of-the-line clothing store simply called 'Lucius Designs'. But when his father died of heart failure two months back, Draco's mother, Narcissa, was overcome with grief. She committed suicide a few days later. Draco moved from his family's home in Sheffield to a flat in London a week after their funerals. 

Draco lay in bed for nearly ten hours. When he become conscious of the fact that he was thinking miserable thoughts, he roused himself from the tangled blankets and walked to the bathroom. He stood at his mirror in front of the sink, thinking whether or not he should brush his teeth first or eat, he decided to take a shower instead. After his shower, he dressed in a gray button-down shirt and dark blue denims. He lazily strolled downstairs to his kitchen. Draco glared at the cupboards, indecisive on a choice in food. With that look, he snatched his keys and drove to the Rustman's Pub.

* * *

As Harry opened the door to the Rustman's Pub, he was disappointed to see the usual drunks scattered throughout the dark establishment. He dragged his feet to his accustomed spot on the bar and slumped in the stool. 

"What are you up for today, Mr. Potter?" Jack the publican questioned.

"The strongest thing you have," Harry groaned miserably.

As Harry obtained his drink, he wallowed in disappointment, sipping the minutes away.

Three hours later, a familiar face walked in. Harry's melancholic state quickly shifted to delight when he saw Draco enter the quiet bar.

Draco took the seat directly next to Harry. "Hello, stranger," Draco said. Jack asked him what he wanted to order, but Draco didn't want anything.

"And hello to you. What took ya so long, mate?" Harry hiccupped.

"Long start to a short day. Do you live here or something?" Draco found it odd that he was here again, so early, although he was happy to see him once again.

"Close. I live down the street from 'ere." Harry replied. It was a few moments before either of the two said a word. Harry was too drunk to think of anything reasonable to talk about. Draco stared at Harry, noticing something new. He looked like he was crying for some time, because his eyes were red and watery.

"Is everything alright?" Draco eased in to his suspicion slowly.

"Yeah, everything's fine. Why?"

The blond paused, not knowing how to ask the question. "Do you," Draco didn't feel right asking now, "never mind."

"Do I what?" Harry's stomach dropped. The brunette knew what the other was going to ask—pertaining to his drug use, that is—he just wanted to hear Draco say it.

"Do you want to meet me at the Cafe Charmant, tomorrow morning?" Draco changed his plan quickly, giving him time to think about what he really was going to ask.

"Okay," Harry was relieved, knowing his secret was safe. "How 'bout 9ish?"

"That's fine," Draco said, returning a smile. He checked his wristwatch and said, "I have to go. I'll see you tomorrow, then?"

"Yeah, I have something to do now anyway," Harry replied, tapping his fingers impatiently. He got up and left some change on the countertop. Draco followed suit.

As Draco swiftly walked to his car, his eyes curiously followed where Harry was trudging. He saw Harry with another person that looked like they've been living on the streets for some time. Draco got into his car and, glancing back at Harry, guiltily spied on him. The stranger looked in all directions, then at Harry. Harry had something in his hand, looked to his left and right, and passed something to the stranger, and put something in his sweatshirt pocket. Draco went pale. His notion was proven true.

At that moment, Draco wanted to scream to the heavens. He thought that he went psycho, falling for a drug addict. But Draco wasn't going to let go of him that easily, for in terms of poetry, Harry was his drug.

* * *

As soon as Harry said his goodbye to Draco, he planned to meet someone nearby. This someone's name was Nick. Harry met Nick at a welcoming party on his floor two years ago. Harry had been quite strained with work, paying the bills; it was all too much. But the party was a night that Harry would never forget, for Harry found a new way to become de-stressed. 

Harry and Nick became good acquaintances, and even better when Nick told him about his line of work. But different schedules and such made them steer in opposite directions, although they kept close touch because Nick was the only dealer Harry trusted.

It started out as merely pot; becoming hazy every now and then turned out to be a part of Harry's everyday schedule, even to the point of getting high before leaving his flat every morning. A few months after that he didn't feel a thing, so Nick slowly led him into more serious drugs like cocaine and meth. However, the effects of those drugs did not suit Harry, so finally Nick suggested heroin, and Harry was in love with the remedy.

Whenever Harry needed to restock his supply—usually every week or so—Harry and Nick met around the corner of the pub.

"You got it, mate?" Harry asked, looking around nervously.

"Yeah, you got yours?" Nick asked, as though Harry needed reminding of the charge. Harry pulled out a few fresh notes—eleven pounds.

"That's not much, mate, but it'll do for a few days," Nick said, also looking about causally with his sunken-in eyes. Harry quickly passed the money into the dealer's hands. He turned to face the wall, and Nick passed him the heroin. Hastily shoving it into his pocket, Harry hurried home. Nick retreated back to the alley, where he now lived.


	3. I'll Do Anything

Warning: I never intend anyone to follow the example below. It's fiction, mind you. Also, another small reminder: the characters are a tad bit OOC, if you haven't been able to notice yourself.

Note: This fanfiction idea was based on the movie Candy, with Heath Ledger and Abbie Cornish, if anyone was wondering. So, on with chapter three!

**Never Enough**

_Chapter Three: I'll Do Anything_

The following morning, Harry woke covered in sweat, his bones felt as if they were slowly deteriorating. He remembered the small bag he brought home the other night. Harry's hand skimmed his empty sweatshirt pocket. _Why can't I remember where I put anything?_, his conscience spoke.

Harry guessed that he had gone 36 hours without a fix, most likely forgetting to use the heroin last night because of his blissful mood Draco put him in. Harry began to rip the sheets from his bed, in dear desperation to find the drug. He searched through every drawer of his bedside table, shoving all of their contents to the already cluttered floor. He stopped himself from further destruction and took a deep breath, but all it did was make him increase his panicked state.

Harry tried to remember where else it could be. _Keys_, a thought came from the back of his mind. He rushed across his flat to the kitchen where he normally left his keys. But on the counter space by his out-of-date toaster oven, nothing was to be found but food crumbs. Harry frantically scoured the small kitchen, then his living room. He cleared everything he could from shelves and his dining table to the floor to uncover some possible hiding place. The young man stumbled over the mess in his rampage. Harry stopped himself, his clenched fists shaking frantically. He tried hard to draw up some memory, but the pain only escalated. He didn't want to give up now.

He struggled to raise himself off the floor, using the chair next to him for support, for the feeling of his stomach being twisted into tight knots made him collapsing again. Harry, seeing no use to waste time trying to stand, then crawled to his bathroom to find the small bag of heroin placed on the sink rim. Harry was in a hurry to get the drug inside his body, so he scratched a hole through the bag with a dirt-ridden fingernail and trailed a shaky line of white powder onto the sink's rim. He clenched onto the bag with his left fist, and drew in the powder through his nostril.

Harry knew this wasn't the fastest way to get relief of withdrawal; the alternative was using a needle. He used to use a syringe, but replacing old, tainted ones was a chore. Plus, he didn't want to get suspicious glances if he was caught continuously purchasing a syringe at a drugstore.

As time slowly passed by, Harry started to feel his stomach and bones at ease. What seemed to be a few minutes later, Harry was in the same position. He still smiled idiotically at the dimming light of his bathroom. This rush of euphoria reminded him of...fuck. Draco. Harry slammed his head against the wall in frustration.

"Shit," Harry muttered, remembering his date.

Harry wallowed to the sink and pulled himself up. He looked at his in the mirror and saw his nose was bleeding. He felt dizzy when he reached to get some toilet paper, but he was feeling too happy to pay much mind. Harry left the mess for later and departed for the Cafe Charmant.

* * *

The Cafe Charmant was in sight from where Harry stood. He crossed the street, waving to a honking car. When Harry arrived at the small coffee shop, he glanced down the curved street to find something oddly familiar. He saw _London's Literature_, the book shop that he worked at. Harry never saw it from this angle, because he normally went to work from the other street entrance. This reminded him of the time he had left of his vacation, two days, which he quickly shrugged off the idea and continued walking to the cafe. He saw Draco sitting at a table closest to the street.

"There you are! I was worried you died, or worse," Draco sighed, "forgot."

"Hullo. Sorry, I slept in a bit too long," Harry smiled widely, lying through his teeth.

"A bit? Try right around two hours!" Draco scoffed, "I was just about to leave!"

Harry's euphoric expression didn't change. "Sorry, all right?" Harry sat across from Draco.

Draco's demeanor changed drastically; he was snickering. "You have something in your nose," Harry looked confused for a moment, then it came to him and he removed the bloody tissue. Harry flicked the evidence onto the street, ignoring the disgusted look from Draco.

"So, how are you?" Harry tried to start up a conversation after some silence.

"Just peachy," was the reply.

"Well, you look the part," Harry noted Draco's distant guise.

"I try," Draco assured, sneering at the comment.

Thereafter were a few more moments of wretched silence, only broken when they ordered drinks. _Harry looks...unusually happy._ Draco thought. During the uncomfortable silence, Draco observed something else that was dissimilar. Harry's breathing was dangerously slow and heavy. He decided to do what he planned to do.

"Harry," Draco stuttered, "D-do you have eczema?"

Harry didn't say a word, just stared at his tea. "Harry?" Draco said louder. Harry roused from his dream-like state. "What?"

Draco sighed. "Do you have _eczema_?" A few people turned their heads in amusement, but quickly went back to their business, noticing the death glare aimed at them from the blonde.

"Not that I can recall. Why?" Harry muttered, leaning in on the table.

Draco hesitated. "Well, the day I met you, I found it peculiar that you scratched your arm a great deal, and you sweated loads. So I got curious and sort of looked up a condition."

"Oh, you noticed. Erm...I have a tendency to...overdress." Harry decided, "And I think at the time I was wearing wool. Damn material, they should ban it."

"Oh," catching Harry in an obvious lie, Draco ignored his conscience telling him to call Harry out on it. "Erm, do you want to go to my place?"

Harry smiled. "Sure."

Harry paid for both drinks and they walked to Draco's car.

* * *

It was a short drive from the cafe to Draco's flat.

"Wow, this place is enormous!" Harry's eyes lit up as Draco pulled into the drive.

"Hmm. I always thought it was a bit on the small side," Draco joked.

He parked the car and the two walked to the door. Draco slide one of the few keys he had into the lock and opened the door. Harry stepped into the warm flat and the first thing that caught his eye was a magnificent staircase furnished with cream-colored carpeting. The luminous wood hand-rail twisted elegantly to a stop facing the door. The front room was filled with rich colors; burgundy, auburn, and dusky gray. Harry looked around the front room in wonderment. From the entrance, Harry found an archway that advanced towards Draco's kitchen on the right. On Harry's left, he found an open dining area with a spacious oak table, but there was only one seat that was prepared for dining. It was then that Harry felt his eyelids beginning to weaken, almost to the point of fainting.

"Can I use your bathroom?" Harry asked, feeling a plastic bag in his sweatshirt pocket.

"Yeah, it's down the hall, second on your left," Draco pointed, getting a feeling of what Harry was going to do. When Harry left, Draco walked to the kitchen and threw his keys to the countertop. He leaned over the counter and put his head in his hands, unable to believe what he got himself into.

Draco had been very curious when he was growing up. In his younger years, when Draco's mother called for dinner, she found him wandering in the garden or around the pond. This trait has carried with him all these years. But right now, Draco hated himself for being like this. Along with curiosity, Draco experimented with things. If he didn't understand something, he would try his hardest to learn about it. The question that was always on his mind was "What would happen if I did this?" Most of his relationships had been based on that question. But when he met Harry, the question changed to "Can I see myself with this person forever?" The answer was obvious.

He was always quick to notice things, random little things that no one would ever notice or remember. The color of someone's shirt from way back when, something that was lost by his best friend in the third grade, his first girlfriend's birthday. Small fragments of scattered memories were his forever. Another thing that he remembered about himself was that he was quick to fall in love, and not so quick to get over those he truly loved who were out of his life.

* * *

Harry walked past the staircase until he reached a small hallway with a few doors on each side. Harry started to feel ill again, so he hurried to the bathroom. He quietly closed the door and groped for the small bag in his pocket. Harry drew it out and his fingers fumbled with the small piece of tape that bound the torn pieces of plastic together. He fell to the tile, guiding the powder an inch on the floor and inhaled the drug through his nose, making sure he got every last grain. Harry pushed himself into a corner, waiting for the happiness to fade away the pain.

* * *

Knock, knock.

"Harry, are you all right? You've been in there for nearly fifteen minutes," Draco didn't hear a sound afterwards. He scoffed and headed towards his kitchen.

Harry heard Draco. He didn't believe him, or he didn't want to. _It was only a few seconds. Or was it?_, Harry wondered. Harry got up from his crouched position and left the bathroom. He made his way to the end of the hallway and turned to face Draco, sitting in the dining room. Harry crossed his arms and leaned on the wall, looking at Draco with curiosity.

Draco turned. "All right? I made you a ham sandwich," he offered, taking a bite out of his own sandwich. Harry just stood there, smirking.

He strolled towards Draco with his hands in his pockets. Harry leaned over until his head was level with Draco's. Draco turned to see what the hell Harry was doing. Harry put on hand on the back of Draco's chair and the other on the corner of the polished table. Harry slowly reached for Draco's lips with his, seeing if Draco would turn away. Draco just sat there, dumbfounded, as their lips connected, tasting something bitter. Draco wanted this badly, but he stood and pushed Harry off of him.

"Wait, I don't-"

"Shh," Harry stepped towards Draco again, "All that matters is that you and I happen to be in the same building that just so happens to have a bedroom." Harry's arms slid around Draco's waist and met at the small of Draco's back. "What do you say?"

Draco's lanky fingers skimmed across Harry's cheek. Draco's fingers lifted Harry's chin, and Harry smiled. Harry's nose was inches away from Draco's. Draco slowly tilted his head and his lips touched Harry's soft ones. Draco only had one thing on his mind, and that was to get to the bedroom. Fast. Draco had one arm wrapped around Harry's waist, and the other arm attempting to guide the distracted couple to the stairs.

Harry didn't have any control over his legs. He tripped over Draco's feet and anything else that was in his zig-zagged path. Draco stopped and released his tongue from Harry's mouth mid-step at the foot of the stairs so he could walk up them without Harry falling. Harry looked disappointed, but then held Draco's hand as they walked up the stairs

Draco swung open the double doors and let Harry go in first. They both looked out into the wall-to-wall window, overlooking the January winter landscape. Harry began to unbutton Draco's shirt. Draco started to kiss Harry's cheek, and went lower to his neck. Harry slowly pulled the shirt off of Draco, one shoulder at a time, to reveal a slightly toned body, not even touched by the sun. Harry looked into Draco's eyes.

"Ready?" Harry said, but the question was unnecessary.

"Naturally," Draco said. Harry's tongue made entrance into Draco's mouth, intertwining with Draco's tongue, as they rushed to take the rest of their clothes off.

* * *

The clouded sun's dull shine gleamed throughout Draco's flat. The place that was formally known as Draco's bedroom was trashed. Two figures lay sprawled on the bed. One was sound asleep, and the other looked at his equivalent other.

Draco's eyes wandered around the outline of Harry's sleeping self. His breaths matched Harry's steady pace. He reached over and brushed his fingers through Harry's messy hair. Draco smiled to himself and fell back asleep, but a tiny occurrence kept him from doing so.

Harry's breathing went from an already slow rate to a deadly pace. Harry still slept, but he winced as he gasped for air. Draco was scared; not only because of the situation, but now he definitely knew what Harry was doing.

"Harry," Draco whispered, shaking Harry slightly. Harry jerked out of his sleep, clutching his stomach as if he were trying to hold it in place. He looked around frantically, not even noticing the person who woke him. Harry jumped out of bed, and then regretting that decision because his lack of balance made him fall, which tripled the pain. He quickly put on his jeans, then shuffled through the mess, trying to find his oversized sweatshirt.

"I want to do this," Draco said hesitantly.

"What?" Harry turned from his crouched position.

"I," Draco sighed, trying to choose the right words, "We have differences, right?" Harry nodded. "Well, this...particular difference would make it hard for us to be a couple. So, I think that, if we're in this together, the going would be...less bumpy."

Harry was still confused by what Draco was trying to get at. Draco noticed by his baffled look.

"The drugs, Harry. I know about your habit." Draco said, as Harry's confused look turned into slight shock.

"Wait a minute. I really don't think that's a good idea. Did all that sex impair your judgment?"

Draco shook off the sarcasm and said assertively, "I don't care. I really, really like you and that's all that matters to me."

Harry looked at Draco directly in the eyes, making sure he wasn't being facetious. When he decided he was serious, he got up and grabbed Draco's hand, clenching it lightly. Harry led him to the bathroom where he left his heroin. He rested on the floor. On the inside, he was itching to get relief, but he showed patience on the outside. Draco sat down next to Harry, anxious of what will happen.

"Are you really sure you want to do this?" Harry wanted to be positive before it was too late. He respected Draco's decision, but at the same time, he didn't want to hurt him.

"Yes!" Draco thirsted for the adventure.

Harry's breathe was shaky. He couldn't take the pain. Harry drew out two short lines of the white powder. Harry leaned over; he was about to sniff it in, then turned to look at Draco one last time. Harry slowly inhaled the heroin, enjoying every moment of it. Draco looked reluctant, but shook it off and sniffed the powder quickly. He came back up, rubbing his nose.

A few minutes passed and neither of them spoke. Harry stared at the shower, smiling dreamily. Draco was starting to regret his decision when Harry finally spoke.

"Here it comes."


	4. Meds

**Never Enough**

_Chapter Four: Meds_

Draco had no idea what to expect. _Dear God, is it going to hurt? Why would it hurt if someone could easily get addicting pleasure from it?_ Draco's eyes widened to the size of reasonably large tea saucers._Bloody hell, I fell for a masochist_. He sighed and cursed silently to himself. It took two deep breaths for Draco to panic less. He didn't know why he was so paranoid; maybe it was the thought of doing something illegal. Just the very thought of it started him on a new round of hyperventilation.

"You know, Harry, I'm n-not liking the idea of this anymore," Draco said shakily.

Harry laughed. "Not to worry, my dear. It's not an _idea_ anymore; it is reality."

Draco stared at Harry for a few seconds, hoping Harry would understand what an imbecile he was being and snap out of the phase. Absolutely nothing changed. Draco rubbed his eyes in frustration. He blinked a few times and then realized something about the atmosphere was different. The hues of the bathroom boosted, making the colors seem more brilliant. Draco shielded his eyes from the brightness.

Harry looked over at Draco, finally noting his inexperience. He smiled wickedly and pinched Draco's cheek. "You'll get used to it, darling."

As Draco listened to Harry's words of comfort, they echoed off of the walls. The words made his head spin and he fell back onto the wall behind him. With his eyes still covered, Draco listened as Harry sniffed, which Draco figured supplied Harry's body with more heroin. Amidst the drug-induced high, Draco still felt dizzy and his ears continuously rung. The worried part of his brain still lingered, with thoughts of regret hanging above him like looming rain clouds. Draco looked through the creases between his fingers and quickly shut his eyes.

_This is going to last forever_, the bad thoughts loomed, _this will never be just a 'one-time deal'_.

Draco peeked through his hands once more and noticed his eyes had adjusted to the luminosity of the room very well. Draco's pupils shrank and his pulse quickened. As the drug dramatically kicked in, all worries and rational thought were pushed to the back of his mind. Euphoria had finally struck him and he smiled at the floor, which—he could have sworn—grinned back. Draco sat up and hastily grabbed and held Harry's hand, afraid that he wouldn't be able to grasp this feeling ever again.

* * *

It wasn't long before Harry's eyes squinted shut. His hand tightened around Draco's. Draco didn't understand what was happening; the only pain Draco felt was in his hand. The drug hadn't lost its effect for Draco, but for Harry it was lessening. Harry started breathing heavily.

Draco was confused, although a sly grin hid it. "What's the trouble?"

Harry quickly pulled his hand away and massaged his temples, hoping it was just one of those quick aches that would go away within a matter of minutes. When the feeling didn't pass, he began to fiddle with his bag of golden brown.

Maybe it was the drug or just a dream—as of now he couldn't remember which--but everything that Draco saw looked as if it came out of the_Alice in Wonderland _book. He had read the novel several times in his youth and had to admit, it was pretty trippy. Looking left and right, the inanimate objects that once took place in his bathroom had started to grow and shrink like in an imperfect mirror. As mad as this was, Draco remained calm, because something that was still accessible in his mind told him that everything was going to be alright as long as he would just let everything be as it may.

He focused back at Harry, who finally was able to pour out a line of the powder. Draco studied Harry's swift motions. It was like (as if) watching a ballet on television; pressing the fast forward and slow button (on the remote) as the graceful dancer sped up and slowed down. With the straw in his nostril, Harry drew up a perfect line of heroin.

Harry sat back next to Draco, obviously enjoying the beatific relief.

Draco looked at Harry, then at the floor, then at Harry again. Uncertainty washed over him like waves on a shoreline. He wasn't sure if Harry was the one he wanted to spend his life with, but he wanted to tell him how he felt, nonetheless.

"Harry, I—uh," Draco muttered. He brushed his hand along Harry's chin, guiding Harry's face so their eyes locked. "I love you."

After seeing Harry look pleased, he felt relieved and smirked. But the smirk quickly faded. Something was wrong with Draco. He felt dizzy and tired at the exact same time.

"I love you, too," were the last words Draco heard before he blacked out.

* * *

The doorbell rang persistently as Draco woke up from losing consciousness the previous night. He raised himself off of the hard tile and wiped the saliva off of his cheek. Draco glanced at his silver wristwatch._11:13 P.M._, it read. He looked around the bathroom. Empty. _Damn_, he thought.He sighed deeply as the doorbell sounded again. Surprisingly enough, he didn't falter while getting up, although staying upright was tricky. It felt as if he had been whacked in the back of the head with a shovel. When the doorbell pealed for a third time, the sound dragged on and rang in Draco's ears for longer than it should have. He staggered into the hallway, experiencing the worst vertigo. Draco finally crashed into the wall, taking a few beloved portraits with him. One in particular crashed squarely on the top of Draco's head and glass shattered everywhere. It was a picture of his father, mother and himself.

He stood once more, brushing bits of glass from his hair and shoulders. He left the mess, figuring he'd clean it up, or not. It all depended if he was up to the task. Upon reaching his front door, he wished the visitor had decided to leave upon Draco's failure to answer his door. The eyehole suggested other plans for today; the guest stayed persistently at the door, smoking a cigarette. Draco ran his fingers through his hair and opened the door. The guest was Harry, which Draco just noticed Harry must have left while he was unconscious.

A cheery Harry Potter spoke instantly. "Come to work with me!" He blew a puff of smoke in Draco's face.

"What?" Draco coughed and tried waving the smoke away from his face. _Funny_, he wondered, _it doesn't smell like tobacco smoke_.

"Come...to my employment facility...with me," he reiterated slowly, taking a long drag on his cigarette.

"What, is it 'Bring Your Gay, Heroin-Addicted Lover to Work' Day already?" Draco commented in an irritable yet sarcastic manner, checking his wristwatch again.

"Yeah," Harry replied with a huge grin, bemused with a smoke ring he created, "Didn't you get the letter?"

"Hmm, no I don't recall. I must have been working that day," Draco smiled back, calmer now that he was mostly awake.

"You? Work? Last time, I remember you telling me that your father did all the work!" Harry retorted back.

Draco's smile dropped immediately averted his eyes. For the few days that he had spent with Harry was the longest time Draco had gone without thinking about his father. Draco had never been able to feel so free from his dejection until now.

Harry looked confused. "What's wrong?"

_Everything, you git_, he wanted to say.

"Nothing. Let's go," was the smug replacement.

* * *

Imprints of shoes were left in the light snow under the grey morning. Hands warming in his jacket pockets, Draco struggled to keep up with Harry, who was skipping. Draco grinned slightly at the sight of him. The brunette skipped made him look quite feminine, with the way his hips were swaying and his arms swinging wildly. _Maybe if he wore a short gingham dress with a petticoat...wait, what?_ Draco chuckled, imagining Harry in such attire.

"Oi, Harry! Slow down a bit, will you?" Draco yelled. Harry stopped, turned, and pouted with his cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. Draco jogged to where Harry had thrown a silent fit and they continued on together.

Harry started shivering, which Draco automatically put his arm around him. "We could have taken my car; it would have been loads faster than legging it."

"I need fresh air for smoking," was the quick reply.

"I do have windows in my car that roll up and down," Draco reminded.

Harry blushed. "Oh, right."

The two were silent as the turned a corner. The Café Charmant was in sight, which meant they were close to the bookshop. Draco let his arm fall to his side so he could stick his freezing hand in his jacket pockets.

"You are smoking tobacco, right?" Draco asked.

"Oh, fuck no. It's that shit we sniffed the day before." Harry said rather loudly, taking another drag.

Draco stopped in his tracks. "You must be messing with me," Harry looked back with pure honesty readable on his face. Draco walked up to Harry and whispered in his ear. "You do realize that we are in public, and people can easily tell if a person is acting the least bit strange. It is called suspicion."

"Well, I believe in a little thing called 'not caring'. God, Draco, do you ever stop worrying? You need to take a breather," Harry said. "Here," he handed Draco the heroin disguised as a tobacco cigarette, "breathe this."

Draco took the cigarette abruptly and Harry turned away, continuing to skip along the frosted pavement. The blonde's nostrils flared in anger at the way Harry treated him. He wanted to scream at the sky, but he just stood there, eyes focusing on the bleeding imbecile. A strong urge to run up to Harry and kill him on spot phased over him. His brow furrowed. He had never felt like this about someone so much, that little prat must have been brought up like that and would always be that way. Draco honestly didn't know why he would not bring up the courage to dump Harry. Maybe it was because he actually wanted to stay in a relationship longer than a month, or perhaps when he said "I love you" to him, he actually meant it. Plus, he might be acting this way because of the heroin, like a side effect.

Draco looked at the cigarette for a long while; a long trail of smoke beckoned him to inhale it just once. Draco raised his head, staring at Harry in the distance. He sighed, and then drew an immense puff into his lungs. Knowing the mind-blowing effect wouldn't happen for another fifteen minutes or so, Draco decided it was safe to catch up to Harry by running. He perched the cigarette between his lips and ran. A few older women sipping their morning tea caught his eye; he noticed them nattering about him up the road. They were probably mainly gossiping about his father and recognized his son. Draco sprinted past the old ladies and the café. He put his hand on Harry's shoulder to stop him. Draco bent over to catch his breath, his hands placed firmly on his knees.

He took the cigarette out of his mouth and handed it to Harry. "Take it!" he gasped, "I'm feeling...much better now."

Harry grabbed the cigarette with his index and middle fingers. "Draco, I'm not feeling to well. Can we just rest a bit?"

"We can see the bookshop from here. You shouldn't be late for work, either."

"It's fine, Draco. The old bat doesn't even know where she is half the time." Harry snorted.

Draco straightened up and started to walk again. "Who?"

"Clara, the shopkeeper of _London's Literature_. That has to be the barmiest name for a bookshop. _London's Literature_?" Harry laughed. "She might as well have called it 'See if you can find anything in this hellhole and pay me profusely for it'! Because that's exactly what she's doing with the rubbish she calls 'important literature'."

Draco continued to walk. "And you are still working there, why?" The blonde waited for the response. "Harry?" Draco heard a thud behind him. He turned and saw Harry collapsed on the ground. The old ladies who were drinking their tea had gathered around Harry, wondering aloud what they should do. Draco hurried to the limp body on the snowy ground, pushing his way through the worried women.

Draco held Harry's face in his hands and tapped his cheeks. "Harry? Harry, wake up!" _Wonderful. I killed him already_.

He looked through the snow, not knowing what to do. He looked behind him to see if the women had fluttered off. All but one had shrunk back. An older woman in a long, loud purple and pea green coat with a matching hat stepped up to Draco. "Good morning. My name is Angela Crasbrey. Excuse me for bothering, but my friends," she pointed behind her to a pack of women wearing the same outfits as Angela, "and I were all wondering if are you Lucius Malfoy's son?"

Draco stopped tending to Harry. He brushed the hair from his face in one swift move and put on his best fake smile. Still kneeling on the ground next to Harry, Draco turned up to the old woman. He tried his hardest to soften his face through the inferior hatred towards the person that stood before him for bringing up his father for the second time today. "Why, yes I am."

The woman turned back to her friends and cried, "I was right! It is that designers' son!"

One of Angela's friends screeched back. "Wasn't he the one that committed suicide?"

Angela, her back still turned to Draco, spoke back. "No, no! That was his wife. _She_ killed herself a few days after _he_ died of heart—oh! What was it...heart—"

"Failure." Draco whispered.

Angela turned to Draco and smiled. She turned back to her friends once again. "Yes, he died of heart failure."

Stab, stab, stab went Angela's words through his heart. It had been now three months since Lucius' heart stopped; couldn't people be the least bit considerate? Draco turned back to Harry to see if he had woken up. Nothing. He shook Harry's face and called his name a few more times. Still nothing. His fingers traced his neck to find a pulse. _Good. I—or it—didn't kill him._

"I'm so terribly sorry to hear about your father," Angela continued (_Oh fantastic. She's still blabbering_.) "He was my absolute favorite designer. My entire wardrobe is filled with everything by Lucius Designs. I'm not pulling your leg or anything; you can even come by my home and take a peek at all of your father's wonderful creations! Oh, but you should know them all by heart. I'm sure he let you look at the designs before they went to retail..."

Draco shook his head. _Funny_,_ I don't remember my father making clothes for ugly old cows as you are_, Draco wish he had said. Instead, he didn't say anything and got a sharp pain in the back of his head. The blow wasn't from Angela; she was serenely soaking up Draco's company. The hit had come from Harry, who had woken up. He did anything to let Draco know he was awake. First he had softly called Draco's name, which didn't work so well because Draco was busy loathing Angela. After not being able to think of what else to do, Harry gathered strength in his arm to whack Draco in the head, which worked surprisingly well.

"Harry! You're awake!" Draco was relieved.

"Yeah, how did you guess that?" Harry said, sitting up and rubbing his head wound from the fall. "What happened?"

"The fall was caused by the inability of you—" Draco was interrupted.

"My friends and I saw you fall, so we rushed over and learned that your friend here is the son of Lucius Malfoy! He is quite the charmer, you know." Angela chirped, grinning playfully at Draco.

Harry stared at Draco. "Your father was—" He stopped before things could get worse. Draco looked away.

"You didn't know? If I was friends with Draco, I would surely know everything about him. Isn't he a fair resemblance of his father?" Angela continued on. Harry nodded, studying Draco's face. Harry's mother always idolized Lucius Malfoy as a designer, owning many pieces of his collection. He never really noticed until know how much he looked like Lucius, mainly because every time he was with Draco, he was either high or flat pissed.

As Angela continued to drone on about Lucius, Harry occasionally nodded and turned back to Draco, who was silently mocking the old woman. Harry got the message that Draco strongly disliked Angela Crasbrey.

"...and when I saw on the telly that he had died, and so young too, I was a wreck. I didn't eat for at least three—"

"Excuse me, err..." Harry said.

"Angela Crasbrey, very pleased to meet you..." Angela said, holding out her hand in greeting.

Harry lightly held her hand then let go. Draco turned to see what Harry was going to do next. "Alan Squire. Angela, would you mind if you could adjust your—your knickers. They are showing and they are just distracting me from paying the slightest bit attention to your fascinating story." Harry held in a snicker, composing himself to be the "Alan" character.

Angela's eyes grew so wide that both Harry and Draco thought her eyes were going to pop right out of her skull. She was completely speechless. Before she could utter a single vowel, she straightened her prized outfit.

"I—you—" She turned and spoke to Draco, as if Harry were vetoed from the conversation. "I think it is best that you get immediate help for your friend, Alan. I've never met anyone as rude as he." With a "humph", she turned her heel and returned to her friends, ready as ever to tell them about "Alan".

Draco and Harry sat on the pavement sniggering at what had just happened. Draco rose himself from the frozen ground. He helped Harry get up, slinging Harry's arm around his shoulder and placing his hand in Harry's waist. They hadn't walked one meter before Harry said he had forgotten something. Harry limped back to where he lay and picked up a soggy, half-burnt cigarette that was in a pile of mush. He perched the cigarette in the corner of his mouth and hobbled back to Draco, finding his place in Draco's arms once more.

* * *

Upon reaching the front door of the bookshop, Harry stopped and faced Draco directly.

"Look, Draco. I'm sorry," Harry sighed, "I'm sorry for being a git. I was agitated because I was evicted from my flat for not paying the rent in three months. My mate on another floor offered for me to live with him as long as I paid half the rent, and everyone knows it's more than my job's worth. So you could dub me 'homeless'."

Draco took the cigarette from Harry's mouth and took a puff. "Then come live with me. Obviously everyone knows I'm loaded, so why not?" Harry smiled. He snatched the cigarette back and took a long drag. He took Draco's arm and led him to the shop.

The outside of _London's Literature_ looked exactly the same on the inside, minus the weather. The sign on the face of the shop spelled the name in cream-colored cursive letters with the rest of the sign in a dark forest green. Below the cursive letters showed the shop owner, painted over from family to kin. The new owner, Clara Kenstone, had her name spelled in bold, light blue letters. Next to her name was the established date, which was March 15th, 1922.

The inside of the shop looked as cracked and aged as the sign. The wooden floors would squeak in certain spots around the shop. The bookshelves and counter were worn with age. The walls that could be seen were painted with a faded scarlet; the rest of the wall was either covered in bookshelves or abstract art. The only light that was attainable through the shop were the two large front windows, except for the back of the store where there was a bare bulb with a stray pulley hanging from it.

There weren't many people who actually bought books from _London's Literature_. From what Harry guessed, there was an average of eight customers per week. And from what Harry also guessed, the frequent customers probably feel bad for the older-than-stone-age shopkeeper, so they supply her with profits. It was a possibility that one or two of them were newcomers, but the rest were always coming in for their fix of vintage books, whether for recreation or show. The latest book that Clara has in her shop was written in the mid-1980s, meaning_Firestarter_ and _A Perfect Spy_ were left on the shelves to revel in their youth amongst other hundred-year old books.

Clara Kenstone was a completely different story. She was a short, thin woman in her late 70s. She had wild gray hair that stuck out every which way. Her red-rimmed circular glasses magnified the crows feet peeking from the corner of her color-changing eyes. Clara always wore shawls and elaborate pieces of cloth. She wouldn't be able to be picked out of a crowd of gypsies if one was up to the challenge. Her personality did not at all fit her colorful wardrobe. She was the crankiest twit anyone could meet, but once she was met with a money offer, her normally cold, hard eyes warmed to honey golden circles. Her movements were always exaggerated; this could be explained by her obsession of romance novels.

The bell rang as the door opened. Clara took a double take at the door, first thinking that it was a customer, then gasping at Harry. She waddled over to Harry as fast as she could.

"Harry Potter! You know by heart that I don't allow smoking in my shop!" Clara picked the cigarette from his mouth and threw it out into the cold. She hurried the two in and slammed the door, surprising a customer browsing in the shelves. She smugly looked at Draco and asked "Who is _he_?"

"An old mate of mine. We haven't seen each other for—"

"How nice," Clara said in a monotone voice. She was pretending to straighten books, but anyone could tell she was itching to make a sale. "And how was your holiday?"

"It was just—"

"Uh-huh." She couldn't take it anymore. "Can I help you, sir?" She scurried over to the man standing in the romance novel section. Harry could tell she would be over there for a while.

Draco took off his jacket and folded it on his arm. "So, this is what you do every day?"

"Unfortunately, yes." Harry sighed. He also took off his jacket and tossed it behind the counter, where he soon trudged behind to sit. Draco took a seat across from Harry on the other side of the store. A clock was heard ticking and tocking for many minutes. Draco looked at one of the nearby shelves and picked up a book.

Harry rested his head between his hands as he slouched at the counter. He was right about to fall asleep when the telephone rang abruptly. Harry jumped and blinked quite a few times to adjust to the light the snow made through the front windows. In one corner of the shop sat Draco, snickering at Harry and turning the page of a book by E. E. Cummings. Harry made a face at the blonde as the telephone rang for a second time.

"All right, all right!" the emerald-eyed man told the telephone. Before answering, he leaned back to peek behind one of the bookshelves. Clara was overly intrigued with the customer who also fancied love stories; she did not seem to notice a thing. Harry smiled and answered the telephone.

"London's Literature, what can I help you with this morning?"

"Good morning," politely answered a woman, sounding worried, "Is Harry Potter available?"

"Hi, Mum," Harry recognized the voice.

"Harry! Why wasn't your mobile on? I've called you at least six times!" she said, becoming panic stricken.

"Look, I know I haven't spoken to you in a while, but I have to get back to—"

"It's your father, dear. He's in the hospital."

Harry's heart stopped. He broke the connection between his ear and the telephone. Lily Potter was heard weeping on the other end.

"Harry," she cried, "Harry I need you." She sniffled, and then her mien went ballistic. "HARRY JAMES POT—"

_Click._ He hung up.

Draco looked up from his reading, staring intently at Harry. Draco threw down his book at walked up to him. Harry skin went pale, his eyes now noticeably darkened from lack of sleep. "Harry, what's wrong?"

Harry's mouth was dry. He opened his mouth then closed it, not knowing exactly what to say. The raven-haired man took off his glasses. "Do you—" Harry rubbed his tired eyes and placed his glasses back on the bridge of his nose, "do you know how to get to Dover?"


	5. Home Again

**Disclaimer: **There are two quotes from _Candy_ that are used in this chapter, and are used as character dialogue. I believe that there will be a few more used in later chapters. Just saying that I do not own the rights to them if you recognize the quotes!

**Author's Note:** This chapter is dedicated to Heath Ledger, whose smile lit up my day brighter than the rising sun.

**Never Enough**

_Chapter 5: Home Again_

The two scurried through the pristine snow to Draco's car, all the way back at his flat. Harry had plainly told Draco what the call was about, and Draco needn't ask anything else.

Harry and Draco were surrounded by the sound of nothing but speeding cars. The blond had one hand on the wheel, the other tapping irregularly on his grey, corduroyed thigh. His eyes, ironically the exact same color as his trousers, were barely concentrated on the road ahead; they shifted as his mind was cluttered with thoughts only pertaining to Harry.

On the other hand, Harry was trying his hardest _not_ to think of anything relating to himself. He tried deciphering what the clouds looked most like, or how the trees they passed by were still dead-looking even though it was early spring, but somehow all of these stalls led to his father in the hospital.

The silence was digging into both of their skin, uncomfortable. Draco stopped his nervous tapping habit and his hands joined together on the wheel, his knuckles starting to turn bone white in agitation.

Draco could not stand it anymore. He couldn't decide what itch to scratch first, between Harry being unreasonably calm and the splitting headache he had, so he burst. "Harry, what the _hell_ is the matter with you? You tell me your father is in the hospital, yet you treat it like it's a usual thing!"

To Draco's surprise, Harry was reasonably calm. "Look, Draco. I'm very appreciative of you driving me so far away, but my mind is scrambled at the moment, and I need to deal with this on my own."

"No," Draco said sternly. He switched lanes in the process, his stone-cold eyes fixed on the long road ahead, "we're in this together."

Harry, not knowing how to respond to this—whether with delight or bitter annoyance—took out a hand-wrapped cigarette from his sweatshirt pocket. As if he had been school trained for this, he swiped his lighter from his jeans pocket, and with a swift, continuous movement, he lit the cigarette.

Harry sighed, releasing a large cloud of smoke into the car. After a few puffs, he snapped, hitting the dashboard in frustration. "Bloody hell!" he said through gritted teeth, furiously itching his arm, "All I need are some _fucking_ needles and I would be happy."

The two seemed to calm—or at least were silent for the rest of the trip—as the smoke emanating from Harry's cigarette curled around their noses.

* * *

James and Lily Potter lived southeast of London in a quaint little cottage in Dover, Kent. The little house overlooked the scenic white cliffs that plunged into the depths of the English Channel. Besides the fact that the two Potter's fancy small towns rather than busy cities, the location has some important value to James. This was the exact town where his father grew up at an alarming rate and pushed into war. Well, that was the only part of his father that James was proud of. Harry remembered all the stories his father used to tell him, and many about his grandfather.

_A four-year old Harry sat in James' lap, waiting impatiently to hear a grand tale from his father._

"_I am going to tell you a story about the noblest man in all the land," James cleared his voice._

"_What's his name? Is it grandfather?" Harry squealed, excited to learn the adventures of a brave man._

"_Yes and his name was Dr. Edmund__Potter. He had a special gift: the gift of healing. When Edmund was becoming a man, he knew that it was his duty to heal all he could. That very day, he joined our British Army in fighting the evil villains. But instead of fighting, he helped the soldiers get better by using his magical powers to make the soldiers stronger than ever before!" He paused and looked at Harry, who was impatiently wiggling in his spot, desperately wanting to hear more of the story about his grandfather._

"_When the hero stepped into the makeshift hospital—_"

"_What does 'makeshift' mean?" Harry's eyes grew wide in wonder._

"_It means 'temporary'. As I was saying—_"

"_What does 'temp-rary' mean?" Harry giggled at the silliness and unfamiliarity of the world. "Does it have to do with the circus?"_

"_No, son," James laughed, "It's not the least bit important. Now, your grandfather stood at the entrance of the 'hospital', just staring at all the brave, wounded men that lay in soiled cots. He let the exasperated matrons—" He looked at Harry, whose mouth began to open with another question. "The tired matrons take a rest while he took over. With one flick of his wrist, each cut was stitched, every broken bone was aligned properly, and every single infection was cleared out of their systems. He had saved the day and the lives of many on the first day of his job! The end."_

_Harry smiled at his father and clapped for the story. He was very proud of having a super hero as a grandfather._

But this was when he was just four years old. Although he loved his grandfather, his parents felt differently. He didn't die, nor was he the valiant war hero Harry dreamt of. He did go to war, in fact, but after he came back to civilian life was when his life went downhill. Harry's parents told him sugar-coated tales because in fact, they were ashamed of James' father. They felt he was a bad example of a human being. Edmund was still stuck in the past, doing drugs and living freely like he had done when he came back from the war. The only one who grew up and became responsible in James' family was James himself. He was never there for their wedding, but he made a short appearance at Harry's first birthday.

Harry had to figure this out on his own; the baby stories were becoming unrealistic for the truth-seeking boy. When his mother finally gave in, Harry did not react on the outside as he did in his mind. To Lily, he was collected and calm, as if she told him what the date was. In his thoughts he was absolutely furious, not at his grandfather, but at Lily and James, for keeping such a creative and lively spirit from his reaches. That was when the young, green-eyed boy rebelled from his conservative lifestyle—that his parents were ultimately leading—and began to live.

* * *

Harry rubbed his eyes, sitting up as they neared Dover's local hospital. Draco squinted to read the tiny print on the signs pointing in several directions to park. Draco finally chose one route after several cars lined up behind him, beeping their horns at him. Once the car was tightly situated between two rather large vehicles, the two squeezed out and headed to the entrance of the hospital.

"Look what one hit did to you!" Harry laughed, remarking Draco's plummeted appearance after his first heroin experience as they reached the sliding glass doors of the hospital entrance. Draco really hadn't cared about what he looked like up until that point—his look hadn't changed much since he was a child—when he finally caught a glimpse of his reflection. His hair became awfully greasy, and it seemed as though he paled a few shades in one night; Harry wasn't exaggerating his surprise. Continuing on, he slicked back his hair with one hand, demanding Harry's tiny cigarette with the other. Taking a long drag and holding it in, the two stepped inside, arm in arm.

As many would put it, hospitals can look quite depressing. However, the sick people waiting for hours and bleached walls stained with brown specks of a mystery substance did not seem to faze either of the two. They waltzed to the front desk like they were on top of the universe.

"Sir, there is a designated smoking area outside, if you will," a busy nurse suggested kindly. Smiling, Draco took a puff and smashed the remains of the cigarette on the counter.

Matching Draco's arrogance, Harry said, "I'd like to know where Mr. Potter, my father, is residing. My mother should be there as well, you know, the one who was bawling her eyes out."

The nurse looked at Harry with disbelief, closing her gaping mouth at his rudeness, then gave thing visitor badges and showed them the room. A woman with red-stained eyes sat in a reclining chair next to the patient, Draco obviously guessed she was Harry's mother. The woman turned and quickly stood. She took long strides toward Harry and slapped him hard across his cheek.

"How dare you? Your father is sick and all you do is hang up on me?" Harry's mother started a new round of tears then hugged Harry tightly.

"Mum, I'm sorry, right?" Harry rubbed his wounded cheek, a grin still hinted on his face. She let go and looked up at his face, wiping a blemish off it in a motherly way.

Draco didn't realize that he was staring directly at their intimate reunion until his mother was making funny glances toward him. Harry introduced them, reiterating their meeting and how they became "friends", leaving out bits on their sex and Draco's newly formed drug habit. This, in fact, didn't leave much to tell, but it was enough for Lily to believe.

"Oh, how nice," Lily smiled, still a little unsure about Draco, and she had reason to. His eyes had bags under them, his skin was a sickly pale and he looked as if he hadn't showered in a year. "Harry, dear. I think it would be good if you visited your father."

"Right," he replied, as Draco followed him like a puppy dog to James' bedside.

The weary yet steady pulse recording James' heart beat was the hum of the room, besides Lily's quiet weeping. After a while, Harry's ass began to fall asleep in the stone-like chair. He looked over at Draco, who seemed as uncomfortable. As if they were experienced in telepathy, the two figured it would be rude to just leave so suddenly, so they stayed put until Harry's mother said something.

"Harry," her voice filled with stoicism, "I need a word with you."

Both boys looked up at her, wondering what she could be referring to. Harry got up and followed his mother to the lounge outside of the room. As soon as the brunette left the room, Draco's mobile went off in his pocket. Before flipping it open, he mouthed _'sorry_' to Mr. Potter—although it was unlikely that he would hear—and went into the farthest corner of the room.

"Hullo," he muttered.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Malfoy. How are you this evening?" a cheery woman responded.

"Sar—Fine. Sarah, what is it _now_?" Draco said impatiently. Sarah was his father's assistant, and she used to call Draco frequently about what would happen after Lucius' death. Mainly because of this, as well as other reasons, Draco didn't want anything to do with business-related things.

"Well, Mr. Malfoy—" she began.

"Call me Draco, Sarah. 'Mr. Malfoy' was my father." Draco fought the urge to hang up immediately.

"Draco—I'm afraid that since there is a new manager..." she paused, "since there is a new manager at your father's company, you will no longer receive your part of the income of 'Lucius Designs', for you never recognized your becoming manager in the letters we sent."

Draco's heart dropped all the way to his feet. "W-wait. What _letters_?"

There was another pause. "We—I sent you several letters pertaining to what would happen to the company after...Mr. Malfoy's death. I even called your home, warning you about what would ensue! I'm sorry Mr. Mal—Draco, but it's too late."

Her voice began to dissipate as she said her last words, meaning she was ready to end the conversation. "Wait! Wait! This means no more money at all? What am I supposed to do?"

"Either sell some of that poetry of yours, or get a real job." And with that, she hung up.

Draco stared at the phone with disbelief. He muttered a crude curse under his breath, said '_sorry_' yet again to Mr. Potter, and sat beside him again.

At the same time, Harry was as irritable as Draco was. He was silent as he awaited Lily's predictable chastisement.

"I know what you're up to," Lily said, her face showing no expression, "I don't want you to get Draco in the middle of all this. He does not deserve a life like this, if you could call it that. No one does, not even you."

"What are you talking about?"

"You know _exactly_ what I am talking about."

"No, I honestly d—" Harry stopped when she reached for his left arm, lifting up his sleeve to reveal several track mark scars. He began to explain himself, but Lily cut him off.

"I've known since the first time you've ever smoked tobacco. I'd figure the addiction would get worse once you left us. I was proven when you would rarely come home to 'visit', and all you wanted was _our_ money to throw away on who knows _what_ drug! Your father obviously never caught on to your petty lies, giving you money for 'rent' or 'food'. If he ever knew, he would be devastated, never mind disappointed," Harry tried to get a word in, to salvage his broken dignity, but Lily didn't let him, "I wouldn't want anything in the world but for you to stop! I want you to start a career, a family, anything but this! But you brought this onto yourself. When you can stop, you don't want to, and when you want to stop, you can't."

Harry pushed down his sleeve and folded his arms. He didn't have anything to comment, and Lily gave him one last look of hope before she left. Tiredness set in and Harry collapsed into a chair. When he gathered strength again, he walked back to his father's hospital room in new vexation.

Once he crossed the threshold, Harry's mother turned away from him. Draco looked nervous and uncomfortable, as if a lion with a threatening smirk upon its face sat next to him, noting by the way Draco was sitting very still and his eyes shifting every which way.

"Ready to go?" Draco stood now, taking long strides towards Harry.

"Actually, I was going to ask you if you would come stay the night at our house," Lily said with strange kindness, "I was going to go home anyway; I cannot stand being alone for any longer, in a hospital, nonetheless."

Draco didn't take notice of Harry's bitter mood. "I'd absolutely love to."

* * *

The ride to the Potter's home was not long at all. It was quite scenic, actually; the way the setting orange star sank into the waves was calming, but the beauty couldn't quite satisfy the itch, the craving that both Harry and Draco had.

The cottage that the two cars rode up to was exactly like the cottages one would find in a suburb. A white picket fence about the perimeter of the tidy garden, and a golden touch of the house itself made it seem like the property came directly from a utopian society, each one identical to its neighbor. They parked in the pebbly drive and crunched their way to the inside.

Indeed, walking into the heart of the cottage gave off a homey vibe immediately; a rich cinnamon smell caressed the guests as they admired the deep reds and chocolate browns of the home.

Lily mumbled something about dinner, so she made her way ahead deeper into the home, presumably to the kitchen. Harry saw no change in the set up, veering off into a hallway directly on the right. Draco took another long sniff of the cinnamon and followed his other.

The room that Draco trailed Harry to was a small room, containing a twin-sized bed and a writing desk. A square window was directly above the head of the bed, looking out on the channel. Blue was obviously the theme; the plaid bed cover, walls, and rug were all drenched in it, whether it was royal, navy, or midnight. Draco turned in full circle to study each aspect of the room before sitting on the bed with Harry.

"This is nice," Draco mentioned, thinking of nothing else to say.

"Yeah, it's home," said Harry with a bored tone.

Draco stood and walked to the opposite wall, then back to the foot of the bed, pacing. He made eye contact with the floor. "I've been thinking, and—well, not for very long because of the time constraint on obtaining this, but you'll get the point—"

"And it is?" his emerald eyes were sullen.

"I want to try it your way this time," Draco's eyes shifted directly at Harry.

"Again, you always have a way to make things so utterly obscure that—" Harry's throat almost closed in shock of what he saw. The blond then went to the desk, beginning to empty every single one of his pockets, all filled with syringes. Harry quickly stood, watching the needles come out of his pockets like magic. As Draco nearly finished, Harry couldn't help but just stared at the growing pile. His eyes brightened as if he had found the golden treasure.

About thirty or so syringes, all printed with the hospital logo, flaunted in front of Harry as his emerald eyes rolled from the pile to Draco and back again. Harry grinned, showing as many teeth as he could without hurting himself. Draco expected Harry to be this surprised, but what he did not expect came flying at him. Harry jumped up and hugged Draco, wrapping his legs around the blond's torso, causing Draco to fall backward onto the bed.

Harry straddled atop Draco's stomach. Filled with new reason for happiness, the brunette smacked Draco's lips with his, the quick kiss symbolizing a thank you. Harry then rolled off of Draco to the other side of the bed and continued to smile at Draco, speechless. Shaken with glee, Harry laughed like it was a particularly hilarious joke. The green-eyed man had a sudden change in mood, jumped up, and paced the floor in thought.

"We obviously can't shoot up here. Mum would kill me after that talk she gave me," Harry said intuitively as Draco intently listened, "The minute—no the _second_ we get back to London, we will be in heaven!"

Harry squealed in delight and latched himself onto Draco once again. With Harry happy, Draco was as well.

* * *

Draco strategically hid the ridiculous amount of needles back into his jacket pockets as Harry's mother called for dinner. Harry came back from the outside smoking a cigarette and immediately took his table place. Draco followed suit right next to him, and Lily sat across from them. The pair began filling their plates and talking nonsense to each other. Lily smiled at the two, unusually satisfied at what she saw.

"So, Draco, What do you do for an occupation?" asked Lily.

"I'm a poet," Draco said.

"That must have wonderful hours!" Lily envied, and then said with unexpected bitterness, "But that mustn't come along with a decent income, no?

Draco choked on a piece of chicken before his reply. "Well, erm...I've been on a sort of hiatus as of a few months ago, so that would add up to no income at all. But now I have more than enough reason to start again."

"And why would that be?" prodded Lily.

"One of them is that my father passed away about three months ago," although a chore, reiterating this now seemed to be easier for Draco, "and I still was given a portion of the sales after that. Since I've not recognized the role as manager, replacing my father, I was cut off from all financial profits of...'Lucius Designs'."

Draco stared at his plate, wishing the food in his mouth so he wouldn't have to move. This was because the mouths of both Lily and Harry—mostly the latter—were agape, and the excessive spotlight was unnerving.

Lily grasped her chest as if she could not take a breath. "I'm so sorry, dear. At least you've begun writing again, yes? That's a good thing!"

"Yes, Mrs. Potter, it is." Draco continued to have staring contest with his dish.

Draco did not look, but he noticed that it took Harry a while to stop gawking at the blond. A long period of scratching utensils ensued, and then there was a time when Lily was picking up the dishes and cleaning the table.

Draco's eyelids felt heavy. He couldn't quite recall because his headache intensified to the point where looking at bright lights seemed like shoving a sword through his temple.

"Draco," Harry's soft voiced echoed, "let's go to bed. My bed is too small for the both of us, so mum's made up a bed for you on the so—"

The incomplete sentence was the last thing Draco heard before passing out.


	6. The Innocence of Sleep

**Never Enough**

_Chapter Six: The Innocence of Sleep_

Draco awoke in a softly lit room. It was late—or early, Draco supposed, as no sunlight crept through the cracks of the closed blinds. On the opposite wall, the clock ticked to _2:18_. The room's shadowy blues had the power to calm him back to sleep easily, and it would have worked if it weren't for a persistent knocking sound.

Wiping the cold sweat from his forehead, Draco sat up in the bed to investigate the annoying noise. Draco found Harry hunched over the desk. On a magazine, he cut up the tiny chunked pieces of heroin into a powder.

"Tried to go cold turkey without telling me, eh?" he said, turning around to reveal a fiendish smile on his face.

"I didn't want to be high when I met your parents," Draco voiced hoarsely.

"What? Was I the only one?" The brunette scrutinized him with disbelief. "Now here, take this."

Draco held up his hand before the tainted magazine. "Didn't your mum say no drugs in the house?"

"...No." said Harry innocently. "She implied no _shooting up_ in the house." Harry carefully urged the monthly into Draco's hand, where he then set it on the nightstand. Selfishly eying the heroin, Draco obediently sniffed it up and lay back on the bed.  


* * *

  
A delectable waft of bacon and eggs slid beneath the door of Harry's old bedroom. The rumble of Draco's stomach woke him straight away. He peeled himself from Harry's clutches, despite the brunette previously explaining that there wouldn't be enough room on his twin-sized bed. Harry rolled over and curled up again as Draco trudged to the kitchen.

"Good morning!" Lily used a scarily cheery voice this time. "How did you sleep?"

_Obviously she didn't know that I had passed out_, Draco considered. "Well. Thank you."

He took a seat at the table. On the brink of sleep, Draco was reawakened by a hot plate of eggs, toast, and bacon in front of his face—all which spiked his stomach's interest once more. Another "thank you" was muttered before he began to eat.

Lily sat directly across from Draco. The blond looked up at her, studied her. Her eyes were red and swollen, as was her nose.

Not thinking, Draco questioned, "What happened to Mr. Potter? Harry didn't tell me, so..."

Lily looked up in surprise. "Oh, well," she paused, meticulously choosing her words before speaking, "Yesterday morning, James—Mr. Potter—hadn't been feeling all too well. I tried to get him to the doctor, but he refused, kept on saying it was just one of his off days. Next thing I know I'm doubling the speed limit on the motorway to make it to the hospital because what we thought was heartburn was actually a heart attack!"

She laughed awkwardly, trying to make Draco not feel so uncomfortable. Afterward, Draco realized his stupidity because she was in tears again. Seeing her cry like this reminded Draco of the first time he'd wept in ages, which was a few months ago. Draco had thought he was over his parent's deaths, but he noticeably wasn't, as he was nearly weeping as well.

Noticing that the other was crying, the pair laughed through sniffles. Lily put her hand up to her mouth as she giggled, and Draco wiped his eyes. Amidst their bipolar behavior, Harry entered the room, where Lily and Draco hid their faces from Harry. Lily stood to fetch a plate of breakfast for Harry as he took a seat next to Draco.

Draco brutally blew his nose, which caused Harry to give the other a disgusted look. "Ah, the wonderful sounds of morning!"

"Shut up!" Draco retorted. "How'd you sleep?"

"Alright, I think I've a crick in my neck though." As though seeking to prove himself, Harry tested the malleability of his neck. _I wonder why_, Draco thought. "I see you and my mum had a moment back there."

"Yeah, you could call it that," Draco responded lightly. He found Lily's motherly qualities quite comforting.

Lily brought in Harry's plate, which its shape and size attempted to compete with Mount Vesuvius. Harry wouldn't have noticed anyway because his face was practically smashed in it, eating as much as he could, as fast as he could. Both Lily and Draco had the same, disgusted look upon their faces.

When Harry finally noticed their gazes, he said, "I realize that I do not have correct manners, mother number one and mother number two," he glanced at his own mother, then at Draco, "but I am quite famished," and he continued to indulge himself.

The impossible amount of food was achieved by Harry, but he felt it necessary to not overstay his company. Lily tried to object, but understood because of Harry's job and that he in fact _did_ have a life elsewhere, and Lily figured she would have to get back to the hospital. Attempting not to cry again, Lily gave each boy a tight, long hug. She waved them off as the pair pulled out of the drive.  


* * *

  
The drive home seemed to be loads faster than on the way to Dover. Although Draco almost dozed off a few times, he didn't want to wake Harry, who seemed to be having a good dream with the adorable look on his face. He tried turning on the radio, but every song turned out to be a distorted lullaby. Rubbing his slowly squinting eyes, Draco exited the highway and turned onto the main road. Red light, green light, switch on the blinker, slow; the pattern and everything else became fast forward motion from then on. Advancing as indicated, Draco made the car crawl into the intersection, and then reality replaced his dream.

Another car crossing the intersection slammed into the left side of Draco's car. Harry was only awake for a second, and then the impact made him unconscious again. Draco's heart pounded faster than a bullet sped; there was blood, but where? The top of his head, but what about Harry?...

Draco tried gently shaking Harry awake. "Harry? Harry wake up! I'm sorry, Harry?"

No response.

Harry had a gash across his forehead, arm, and leg, amongst others. Too much blood and broken glass; Draco couldn't think clearly with his thoughts astray.

Flash.

Crimson liquid trickled down Draco's nose. He looked at the other car, which was horribly damaged as well.

Flash.

The ambulance was coming. People were everywhere, gaping at the sight.

Flash. Then nothing.  


* * *

  
Sickeningly bright lights hit Draco's eyes immediately, as a nurse with equally bright scrubs recorded Draco's vitals on her clipboard.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Malfoy. It's good to see you awake." she said.

An uneasy feeling at the pit of his stomach set into his anxiety. He watched as a few police officers walked outside of his room, Draco's eyes widening. "It wasn't my fault, I swear!" He sat up quickly. "It was my turn to go, and—Harry! Where's Harry? Oh, god! Harry!"

Touching his shoulder, the nurse had kind intentions. "We know it was not your fault, Mr. Malfoy. The man who hit you was a drunk driver—yes, in midday he was drunk—" she answered Draco's skeptical look, "and he took full responsibility."

"And as for Mr. Potter," a doctor pushed back a curtain separating the two beds, as if he was given a cue. Draco saw Harry, although covered in a few bandages, was smiling, "he's going to be alright. Hello, I'm Dr. Alan Harris."

Draco was greeted with a firm handshake. "I see you've got only some bandages, but nothing to worry about. We be back to do a blood test to check for infection, then you'll be on your way."

Before Dr. Harris and the nurse left, the doctor had given a suspicious look towards Draco, as if he knew that Draco knew there was something not right about the situation. He read the doctor's expression as if he'd told Draco flat out that he was scum. Harry had noticed it also. As if they'd read each other's mind, they both knew one thing: they needed to get out of there. Fast. Once the doctor and nurse left the room, the pair's hearts quickened. Ripping out their I.V.s, they hurried to put on their clothes, and left the hospital seamlessly.


End file.
